


Just A Ride

by FloodFeSTeR



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Hitchhiking, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Merle Being an Asshole, Murder, One Shot, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 19:56:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8814232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloodFeSTeR/pseuds/FloodFeSTeR
Summary: Alison didn't mean to die that night.Alison just needed a ride home.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This one shot is for an ongoing story I have on FanFiction.net and I am debating bringing it over here if anyone says so.
> 
> Please enjoy, and I believe this would hold some triggers for some people so please be careful when reading.
> 
> Find me on Twitter (@LikePicklez)

Alison didn't mean to die that night.

Alison just needed a ride home.

She didn't want to walk, it was beginning to rain and plus the distance would be killer on her frail ankles.

She didn't even have her purse, her friends had taken off with that too, along with her phone and car; Alison had never had a good choice when it came to making friends.

She wouldn't have minded them taking the car so much if she had her phone, they were drunk and unpredictable and she had left the keys in the ignition like an idiot. She should have known better when they both had stood up and wiggled away when she had turned to a cute guy trying to flirt with her.

But Alison had been a bit tipsy when that all happened, so there was that. A good night, just out with her supposed _'friends'_ because it had been just so long. She'd indulged in drinks too, that was the whole surprise of the night; Alison wasn't much of a drinker.

Now she was stone cold sober and _scared_.

Alison had to get home to the sitter, she was only paying her for the night and then the woman would be gone, leaving her ten year old son all alone on a Sunday morning, no mother in sight. Alison had walked home from plenty of bars, plenty of parties and pubs, but they had all been close to home, and she had everything she needed on her with a minimal amount of alcohol in her system every time, if she drank at all.

This was defiantly different, Alison had nothing but a short dress and a jacket.

_Alison just needed a ride home._

Alison was a trustworthy person, she had hitch hiked plenty of times and she was capable -- in her mind and experience -- of handling herself when things got rough. She had been to so far when a man expected payment for taking her to her destination.

So Alison stuck out a thumb and prayed.

Her prayer was quickly answered by a blue truck sliding idly to a stop a few feet ahead of her; it rattled on its frame, old and trustworthy, but not really ominous. The driver side window rolled down slowly, Alison's thumb still held out, and a man peered out of the window, the look on his face lazy. _Disarming_.

"Need a ride?" he asked in a southern drawl.

Alison smiled and nodded, jogging around to the passenger side of the truck, her heels clicking against the pavement.

When she pulled the truck door open she didn't notice the mans leer at her skimpy clothes, all she noticed was the heat thumping from the vents and the large cab. She jumped into the truck with no complaints or questions, pressing herself against the dash to soak up the warmth while the man started down the rain slick road.

She looked him up and down with a slack jaw for a moment, rubbing her hands together, and then she spoke.

"I need to get into Mariette, maybe around the Publix. You know where that is?"

He nodded slowly, his right arm resting across the middle console. Alison didn't notice, she was looking ahead again, smiling a little as her shivers calmed. He had a mild beer gut and was almost bald, something that stuck out because it was patchy like a junkie's hair would be but he didn't seem high right now.

"That's fine. . .that's fine. . ."

Alison looked around after a moment, wanting to cringe at the trash around her feet. The longer she looked the more things she found, like the faint glint of a glass pipe, the bowl encrusted with black and faint hints of yellow around the edge, and the distinct smell of pot coming from around her shoes. She almost said something, then she felt the hand creep across her thigh.

She squeaked and slapped the hand away, her heart fluttering in her chest as she saw him simply staring ahead, his jaw not set in aggravation.

After a good ten minutes passed Alison let out a barely audible sigh and looked forward again.

That was when he pulled onto the side of the road.

Alison barely had time to think as she watched the locks tuck into the door before he was on top of her.

His putrid, meth scented, breath wafted over her and she whimpered. She screamed and flailed her whole body under his bulk, aiming for the junction of his thighs but missing, scraping over his thigh. He growled and his knee came down on the top of her calf, pressing down with all of his weight as a grin slid across his face.

Alison let out a strangled gasp as pain started to splinter through her calf, gagging briefly on the stench of his breath. His eyes were bloodshot and his pupils looked distorted, dilated.

Alison screamed at the top of her lungs, her eyes clamping shut as her chest arched against his and the bone in her left calf snapped under his weight. It was the worst pain she could ever imagine, it was so _intense_ and she could almost feel the splinters of bone jabbing into her muscles, forcing blood to the surface, bone out. When he lifted up to check out his handy work she did as well and a sob broke through her chest at the sight of her cracked bone. Her leg was bent in, a long length of bone slicing through the tender skin and up.

He laughed and pushed up to his knees, working hard on the zipper to his jeans. "Didn't think I could do it. . .can't wait to get into that sweet puss girl. . ."

Alison sobbed and rolled her head back, looking for a way out. She gasped out and her fingers fumbled up, shakily pulling at the door, its lock, and managing to dig it out with her nails. She pushed it open and slid out onto the unforgiving concrete, hearing the man growl above her.

She gasped in utter agony when her head and then wounded leg hit the ground, twisting and writhing. _What had she been thinking? What was she going to do? Drag herself away from this?_ And then what, her leg was broken, obviously, and she was in the middle of nowhere. She didn't recognize anything. She hadn't been paying enough attention to the road ahead of them.

Alison scream when a boot pressed down on her wounded leg, her chest arching, rolling, getting nowhere. "Stupid bitch. . .where did ya think ya were goin? I ain't done wit' cha, not by a long shot. . ."

Alison screamed and sobbed, wishing he would just let her go.

She would rather die here in the street than at his hands. She really started to cry when she saw the rusted hatchet he pulled from the bed of the truck, flipping it between his fingers in a practiced manner. He came over to her, fly down, drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth that he swiped away with his tongue. He crouched down onto one knew, slowly rolling the hatchet in his hand, staring at it with his tongue licking at his bottom lip.

He grinned down at her lopsidedly.

"See this? This is yer salvation sweet lady. . ."

Alison let out a low sob and squeezed her eyes shut as he raised the weapon above his head, the edge of the blade invisible in the dark.

* * *

 

Alison didn't know if she alive or dead, she didn't know what was going on.

She could smell the blood, she could feel the pain in her broken leg, and the ache between her thighs. She wanted to start crying again when she realized what _that_ was from.

She blinked her eyes open slowly, really only able to open the right one seeing as the other was swollen halfway shut, a slight stinging sensation behind the back of both eyes before she rolled her one around. She saw _him_ , that _thing_ that did this to her, and then there was a younger man in front of her, shielding her almost.

He was clearly angry, scared.

He shook his head and looked down at her with tender cobalt eyes and she almost smiled. He was mercy.

"Well. . .let's bury 'er then." _No he wasn't._

If Alison could, she would have cried.

She couldn't even scream when the younger man with cobalt eyes grabbed her by her hair and drug her out of the bed of the truck. He just growled when the blood ran in the back of the truck. Alison wanted to cry, she wanted to sob and twitch, but her body remained quiet like putty in his hands. She waited in pained silence as he dug the grave, actually giving her a burial but it was far from proper.

He grabbed her by her hair again and drug her inside, grunting when he dropped her. She shook like a rag doll when her body hit the bottom of the dirt hole; why couldn't she move? She couldn't do anything, it was like she wasn't even in there. She stared into those cobalt eyes as he poured dirt over her, into her mouth and suffocating her, a single tear sliding down her cheek.

Alison didn't mean to die that night.

Alison just needed a ride home.


End file.
